Two Souls
by drkonkers
Summary: At the moment of her death, when lights fade and limbs grow cold, in what form will KeNarish find her solace? What will she have accomplished and who will remember her? Read at your own risk, contains intense violence, sexual themes and vulgar terms.
1. Things Once New

Please forgive me, as this fan-fiction has been through so much. At one time this chapter was posted and I had a few heart-warming, and well-received, comments from one lovely reader. (I hope you've come back. I remember you.) I even met a now great friend of mine through the first installment of this fan-fiction. (Thank the gods she has put up with me for so long!) For her, I fear the tasks of a beta reader have become those of a mother hen, constantly fussing over her late-hatching chick. So, I would like to say how grateful I am, truly, that I've the chance to share this time with you.

For two years now I have worked on this fan-fiction. It's rather sad that I'd let it die the way it had, but I find myself thinking of these characters at least once a day - writing lines here and there, doing little drawings of my characters in my sketchbook; suffice to say: I'm obsessed with this fan-fiction. You know, I have never taken on a task as big as this project before, nor have I felt so strongly about a piece of writing. (Funny, I know, because for all it's worth it is just a fan-fiction.)

Although I have not written as much as I should in the years I've been away, I have learned more than I can put into words. I have read numerous books on writing, done my own research, studied movies and plays, music and now I've come back with a stronger understanding of what lies ahead and how I am to get there.

Regardless, I still can only count the number of writings I've completed on one hand, and even fewer are the ones I've shared, so please if you have something to say.. say it kindly.

With respect,

Lauren.

*WARNING WARNING WARNING*

Includes extreme violence, language, and sexual content. Skyrim is a product of Bethesda Softworks LLC, copyright 2012. KeNarish [Ken-nar-ish] 

Things Once New

"Ready your gear, and lets move, we're taking Windhelm." General Tullius glanced up from the map to hardened faces of his men, each one eager and itching to end this war, to return to their families and their lives. His eyes stopped on the newest addition to his elite team, a young Elven woman. She was leaning against the far wall, apart from the others, arms crossed and silent like she had always been. "Did you hear me, Legate?"

She looked his way and pushed herself from the wall, walking over slowly with dignity; back straight as a board, shoulders strong, chin high. The men around him shifted nervously, flashing uneasy glances. She wasn't received well. Her involvement with the Empire was both rocky and rumored.

Tullius's frown deepened. The first time they met he had her on the headsmen's block. Why she sided with Empire he didn't know, but he was sure she hadn't decided on a whim. She had taken her sweet time seeking him, seven years, too long to wait. But it had given him hope, if she had sought him out to fight at his side even after he sentenced her to die, surely he was doing something right. Surely…

She stood next to Legate Rikke and studied the map before she spoke. "Sir, perhaps we should hold back for now." By the groans of others it was clear the idea wasn't in favor. She pointed one finger at the map. "We just took Fort Amal, they maybe expecting an attack. Lets hold off, let Ulfric sweat it out."

The General sighed and shook his head. "What do you think, Rikke?"

"The longer we wait, the longer Ulfric will have to rally his troops. I say we go in now."

The General straightened and ran his hand through his hair. "Sorry to say, Legate, but I agree with Rikke. The longer we wait the more strength Ulfric gathers." She nodded to him and he glanced back to his officers. "I'll need all of you at the front lines if we're going to take the city. Don't die and don't get shot." He grasped the hilt of his sword. "Let's finish this."

The carriage bucked waking Tullius from his doze, he took a breath full of crisp mountain air - they were getting close. He wasn't a patient man. All this waiting and preparing was driving him wild, he was ready for this war to be over. Ready to put his feet up, ready to write that victory letter to the royal court, ready to be at ease for once.

Tullius let his head fall back and took in the blue sky. Clear, not one cloud in sight. The harsh air was cold in his nose, the feel of his hair blowing in the wind. Tullius up-righted himself. Glancing around at his soldiers, his graze fell on one in particular.

He tried not to alert her attention as he studied her. She was dressed in a full Elven suit. In fact, everything she carried down right to her arrows was Elven, minus her bow, which was ebony. Her helmet was at her side and he watched as she restrung the weapon. She had never wore the stander colors, something his men had questioned him about, although it hadn't much worried him.

She was pale, paler even then most Nords, with stark white hair and eyes that shone black and defiant. She was menacing at first glance, yet mysterious and powerful all the same. He wasn't a man prone to fantasies, but since she had been under his command, he caught himself imagining things better left unimagined. Silent meetings in castle Dower. That beautiful body pressed to him, the whisper of her voice in his ear… Tullius blinked.

"You think you'll do any damage with that weak little bow?" One of the men leaned over to her. Tullius felt a smile tug at his lips, the poor lad hadn't learned how hot she burned, how dangerous she could be. He wouldn't be challenging her if he knew how the war had shifted in their favor since she joined. Tullius would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a bit envious of her talent. The men he trained were strong and true, but even he knew no one could carry the war as far as she had.

The woman didn't even look at the officer, just tested the resistance in the line. The carriage rocked again, and her eyes flicked up to him. She gave him a solemn, silent nod and Tullius glanced away to the others; trying to appear as though he wasn't gawking at the gal, it failed. Hodvar smirked at him and he shot him a warning glare. Tullius crossed arms, trying to fight the chill and stared down at his boots.

"You hear me, Elf?"

KeNarish glanced at the man who had sat nearest her. He was in the standard Imperial steel, with walnut-brown hair and a full mustache. She hadn't acknowledged him at first, she had no desire to. People had ideas about her, that she was a Thalmor puppet, that she looked down on Nords because she was Bosmer - that she was sent by the Gods as a savior, that she was a heartless killer. Most rumors held some truth, she had been involved with the Dark Brotherhood, was the newest addition to the notorious Companions. Was honored as an Imperial war hero, assassin of the Emperor, not to mention Dragonborn and Slayer of Alduin. Yes, her actions clashed a bit.

She sighed, Astrid… The span of time without her, no matter how long, was always hurtful.

KeNarish glanced once again at the man beside her. "Stand up and I'll test it on you…" Her cold response had immediately put him off and he pulled away. Good, she didn't feel like chatting anyway.

The cart rocked to a halt. Movement from the General withdrew her from her thoughts. She watched him stand and leap off the carriage before the others. His face drew into a dark and angry frown. He raised the tip of his blade into the air and shouted, "For the Empire! FOR THE LEGION!"

The men around her roared to life, jumping off in all directions, rushing the gates of the city with weapons drawn and eyes flaring. KeNarish pulled on her helmet and stepped off the end of the carriage. She couldn't be happy, not about this. Her choices lead her here - but still, she was cross with herself. Had she picked the right side? She didn't know anymore.

She walked up to the doors of Windhelm, already blown open by the troops. Tullius and his men were pushing back the Stormcloaks, citizens fled to their homes, the Candlehearth Hall was in flames and shambles. She sighed and drew her sword, this was for Skyrim.

KeNarish drew back on her bow and downed the Stormcloak who had one of the officers pined. She jumped down from her perch and went to him, offered her hand; and much to her surprise found it was the man from the cart. He stared back with wide eyes, not even trying to hide his fear. He took her hand and she pulled him to his feet. She wanted nothing more then to tell him I told you so, but there wasn't time for pettiness. Something was wrong, very wrong. Too few Stormcloaks were defending the Hold, Ulfric was planning something and they were playing into it. She hadn't seen the Hodvar or Rikke since the battle started and she was full of worry; she wasn't about to lose a friend in this fight.

KeNarish moved past the man from the carriage and he followed silently. The pair came around the small bend of the ally to the palace courtyard where Tullius and Rikke were fighting back a band of Stormcloaks. Her heart skipped a beat. The man from the carriage plowed into her, pushing past to join the others. She used the distance to draw an arrow trying to line up a shot. She nearly had it, just a bit more…

A sudden force nearly knocked her to the ground and she threw herself against the sidewall for cover. She looked up to face the archer on the wall over her head, drew back, and struck him in the chest. He went down, but not without loss KeNarish realized. She had taken an arrow to the left shoulder, she would have to have it healed when this was over. She stood and walked over to Legate Rikke as the fighting ceased. Tullius stood strong and straight, bearing only a small cut to his chin. Rikke was equally unharmed and she was glad to see them.

"You're hit…" Rikke said, reaching out.

KeNarish smiled lightly. "I'm fine." She gave Tullius a nod.

Tullius clenched his teeth. "Lets end this."

The three of them walked into Ulfric's palace, weapons drawn and muscles tense. Rikke guarded the door and KeNarish flanked the opposite side of the hall table, her senses strung high. She watched Ulfric's every move, waiting for him to spring. He was lounged across his throne like nothing was amiss, looking down on her with cold, unreadable eyes. She had never trusted Ulfric, one of the reasons why she chose the Empire.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, the Empire charges you with insurrection, murder, and the assassination of High King Torygg."

Tullius had barely finished his little speech before the hall flooded with Stormcloaks. Damn it! She should have told them, Ulfric was holding back his men, there wasn't even time to draw her blade before they overwhelmed her. She hit the floor, kicking and punching until they overpowere her, she was beat.

They ripped her weapons away, and kicked her a few times for good measure, before they hulled her to her feet. Her eyes met Rikke's across the way and then she glanced to Tullius. They were all beaten, bruised and defenseless. Grinding her teeth she turned and twisted against the grip on her wrists, but the man behind her held tight.

Galmar Stone-fist strolled up with a nasty smirk on his face. Part of her wasn't at all surprised he zeroed in on her, like a hawk on a rabbit. After all they had met before, as unfortunate as it was. He balled his fist and drew back, punching her dead in the face. Her helmet few off, and she would have followed, if not for the hold on her arms. After the sting in her cheek eased, she found his eyes again. He drew back again, ready to wail into her. He punched her so hard she lost the strength in her legs. She lurched over and dropped to her knees, only to be forced back up again. A wicked smile curved across his lips and he clenched his hand into another fist.

"Stop!" Rikke screamed. KeNarish's heart flipped for a second, and she looked over at the Legate. There was pain in her eyes and KeNarish felt anger rise in her own. She glared at Rikke, trying to communicate her thoughts. Worry about yourself, Legate.

"Galmar…" At the sound of Ulfric's voice she squeezed her eyes shut. That voice - it was dark, seedy and absolutely untrustworthy. The thrill of it made the hairs at the back of her neck prickle and her blood run cold in her veins. Galmar relaxed and stepped to the side. She kept her eyes on him as he moved around her. He seized her arms with his hands with a grip a hundred times harder then the man before his. "Take them away…" Ulfric sighed, indicating to Tullius and Rikke. No. Something in her gut was telling her if she said goodbye now she'd never see either them again.

She twisted and fought against Stone-fists hold, screaming; "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID FOR THE ALDMERI DOMINION!" Ulfric's eyes narrowed into cold choral slits, burning deep with hatred. His men paused all around her, looking to their leader. "You sold out like a farmer sells a lamb. Your cause is true, Jarl Ulfric, but the man-" Galmor kicked the back of her knee and she fell to the floor. He dug his hand into her scalp and yanked her head up.

It happened in a instant. She felt the bite of Galmor's blade. Saw the glint as he pulled away, the edge coated red with blood. He cut her throat. She was in shock, barely attune to the boom of commotion in the room. She could hear the draw of swords and men grunting and barking orders, could hear Rikke's helpless screaming. She tried to breath in but nothing would come.

"GAH! YOU TRAITOROUS BASTARDS!" Rikke belted. "DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'VE DONE!?"

"Cage them…" Ulfric ordered with a wave of his hand, and watched his men drag off the General and Legate, before he moved to the Elf. She was on her hands and knees, choking and shaking, bleeding out at a fair rate. He knelt beside her and grasped her chin, forcing her eyes up to his. Those bottomless black pits that shone like embers. He hated them. A glance down at the cut across her throat proved it, she would be bled dry within a few hours. However, his troubles were just beginning. "What it is you think you know?"

She glared right into him, a sly smirk claiming one corner of her lips. "You're a fool, Jarl Ulfric."

He stood and kicked her in the side, sending her rolling across his floor. She cringed, clutching her side, her throat; trying so desperately to get to her feet. He was all too happy to knock her down again. She stilled the third time he hit her, her muscles quaking. Lying on her side, blood dripping past her hand, pooling by her head. Ulfric moved closer and grabbed a fistful of her white hair, bringing her face up to look at him. "It's sad that you chose the wrong side, friend." He sighed. "Now you'll bleed to death on my floor and I'll hang your corpse over my city wall."

The Jarl released his grip and KeNarish watch him walk back to his throne, content on sitting to watch her die. She used the last of her strength and clawed to her feet. Ulfric gave her an amused grin. She swayed at first but she took a tentative step, then another, then another. Soon she stood between Ulfric's knees, that ungodly smile never leaving his face. She rocked back on her heels, nearly toppling over. Amazingly, he grasped her arm and brought her back upright. KeNarish looked right at him, his eyes ablaze with loathing.

She reached for the arrow still protruding from her arm and ripped it from her flesh. Gods... The tip of the arrow was still intact.

"And the noble hero strikes down the villain with one fated arrow?" Ulfric's tone was mocking, challenging.

"We'll see." She pulled away from him slightly and raised the arrow over her head, plunging it into the top of his thigh. Ulfric howled out, kicking her down the steps of his throne. She flew back and landed hard, face up, eyes on the ceiling. She rolled and clutched her hand back over her throat. Very inch of her body quivered and tensed. Was she about to die here, on this floor? She gasped again.

"Sir?" She heard Galmor ask quietly.

"GET ME A GOD DAMN HEALER IN HERE NOW!" Ulfric was truly vexed. "And spike her!"

Gods, she didn't know what being spiked was, but she was sure Ulfric wasn't kind enough to kill her fast. She was right. Galmor dragged her to the front gate of Windhelm. They passed the last hopeful Stormcloaks, who looked down at her with daggers in their eyes. If they only knew what she was trying to do, that she fought for all of them. Galmor lifted her by the waist and ran her through. Spiked. She understood now. He used the weight of her body to hang her. Like she'd seen bandits do to their victims, sticking heads and bodies up on swords and what not. He dropped her, back first, onto a wood pike. Gods, it hurt. Everything hurt.

She felt her arms and legs go limp as she hung there. The winter wind was cold, the sounds of the horses snorting in the stables. She could still hear, still feel. The last bit of red waned from the sky and the stars began to shine. She didn't want to die here, not like this.

The tips of her fingers went numb, her arms and legs followed. Her mind was starting to separate from her body. She tried so hard to hold on, a second longer, a thought, a feeling, a voice. She was so close, so close. Tears dripped off her cheeks. All the people she'd known, everything she'd done… Wasted.


	2. Things Once New Part II

Things Once New Part II

Hodvar sighed, a frown deep in his face, and ran his hand through his hair. He was lucky to make it out of Windhelm with his life, but many others where not. General Tullius and Legate Rikke had made a quick escape with little struggle, but _she _was not with them.

At first he was worried. Angry enough to charge into Windhelm and kill Ulfric himself, but one of his men held him back. Orders were to wait until nightfall when the low light would provide better coverage and they could rescue their fallen comrades. Hodvar balled an angry fist into his leathers, _damn._ This wasn't what he wanted when he told her to join the Legion.

Over the past seven years they became close as kin, she had been there for him. She shepherded him when him was lost, when the faces of the men he killed haunted him. It seemed like all he had to do was look and certain way, imagine her face in his head, and she would appear at his door ready to make him laugh or listen when he was troubled.

His own mother died when he was very young, but she had been what he always envisioned as a mother, strong and yet compassionate, timely and caring_._ He'd been with her since the start, from there meeting in Helgen. He'd watched her mold and shape into the warrior she had become, from a scared little Elven Girl to a feared and respected woman. He smiled at the thoughts flooding back to him, how much fun she'd been. Not motherly, no. She was more like the unruly sister, content to get him in trouble, but always came around to get him out of trouble again.

If she died for this war, he didn't know how he'd serve any longer. He had considered leaving the force before, but never could bring himself to say the words.

"Sir?"

Hodvar glanced up to see a young Imperial standing in the tent opening. The boy was fresh-faced, barely a man. Seeing him made his heart drop that much lower. The war needed to end. This needed to be over. Too many families had lost sons and daughters. Too many children went without mothers and fathers.

"Sir, the men are ready to move."

Hodvar stood and sheathed his sword. The boy watched him curiously, but said nothing. He pushed past him and out to meet his men. The wind was stronger now and it stung the side of his face as stepped out. A small group of insurgents were waiting, standing around silently. "How many are there?" He asked the scout as he pulled on a helmet, mainly to protect his ears.

"Four of them on the outside walls. Three bodies, sir."

He glanced at the others who all looked chilled to the bone and ready to call it a night. "Alright, this isn't a glory mission. We're here to retrieve our fallen comrades. I want this done quickly and quietly. If you see Stormcloaks I want them dealt with swiftly, understand?" With another sigh Hodvar and moved downhill toward Windhelm.

He drew back his breath and gave the signal to his followers. The archers took out the four grauds with ease and afterward his men split into three groups moving to the bodies that hung at the city gate.

It wasn't a pretty scene. His gut twisted into a knot. The bodies were mangled and beaten. He couldn't image what suffering they endured before they died. At least the Empire had the decency to kill quickly... As he helped move the body in the cart he heard one of his men cry out.

"She's alive!"

With hands moving all around her, reaching and grasping, lifting at her, KeNarish woke. At first she was angry, she was almost asleep and now she had to deal with shit all over again. However, the touch was gentle and she welcomed it, until they lifted her off the spike that is. Moving her had brought back all her pain and as she came free she gasped out. She heard a man scream that she was alive. The faces of the men who found her were fuzzy and muted, but the colors where reassuring, Imperial red.

They rushed her over to a padded area and covered her in blankets. They must of thought she was freezing to death, but she could scarce breath without getting fur in her nose. She tried to move, to speak, but nothing was happening. Maybe she was already dead, just still within her body. KeNarish wasn't sure. She had come close to death before but not this close.

Not to long after that thought she started to drift again. Everything felt like she was covered in heavy sand. The smallest movement drained her of energy, like sapping a tree. She closed her eyes gently and breathed. She was ready. If she didn't wake up that was how it was.

KeNarish woke in a cloud. The rocking of the carriage and the sound of the horse's foot falls. Funny, her journey started on a carriage. As her eyes cleared they came on a familiar face, Hodvar. Thank the Divines he was alive. His eyes where closed and he was leaning to the side, clearly sleeping.

"Those beast are making me nervous," she heard a man say.

"Why aren't they attacking?"

She glanced to the sky, colored a brilliant midnight blue. Shadows were circling above. She knew the sound of their wings on the air, Dragons. One was Paarthurnax, recognizable by his ivory skin, even in the moonlight. The other was Odahviing she could tell by the distinct markings on his wings.

The Elf felt Paarthurnax's conscience slid across her own and his voice cooed in her head. _Dovahkiin…_ She squeezed her eyes shut, the sadness of his tone made her heart twist. He was a part of her soul, a dear close friend, they both were.

When she first met Paarthurnax she was sure, to him she was the monster. He could sense the souls that festered inside her and she could see the hurt in his woeful eyes. It was like torture, being the end of such a stunning, magnificence creature. Dragons were smart, beautiful beings. They were not evil and they deserved to be honored.

It was why she ended her involvement with the Blades, with Delphine. They wouldn't understand, they where too thick headed to even try. Dragons were like mortals in that they too had to make mistakes and learn from them. Paarthurnax wasn't like his brother. She knew that. Better then anyone, she knew that.

When she went to him his eyes where like windows to his broken heart. _The Blades say you deserve to die. _

He had just smiled on her, like the pleased grin of proud father. _It's not wise to trust a Dovah… He said. _

_I trust you, Paarthurnax. I could never kill you. _

When she returned to Delphine she wasn't received with smiles. She told them she was through. The Blades were on their own and if they still wanted Paarthurnax dead they would have to fight her first. It had been a cold, abrupt end to their friendship. The Blades were destined to crumble without her, she could only hope they would make peace before they went.

She smiled and reached out, watching her own fingers out stretched against the night sky. She remembered what Odahvirng had told her before he took her to Alduin. Skyrim was beautiful, but from the back of a Dragon it was like a whole new world. It had been the most exhilarating moment of her life. In the air, the clouds, the sun, nothing would ever compare. It was were she belonged, of that she had not the slightest doubt.

KeNarish's gaze followed her fingers to the Dragons above. Her eyes found Odahviing as he cleared a bank of trees overhead. _I do envy you…_ She closed her eyes, listening to the gentle swoops.


End file.
